Distance
by IdiotDrool
Summary: The world was his trinket. Life a puppet for his fingers to play. He was a constant, she was just human.
1. Prologue

She fled into his senses; her sent growing stronger as she stepped into the hallway and into his room. He could sense her near could hear the catch of her breath and the steady thump of her heart against her ribs, harder than she probably intended.

He was well aware that she was trying to surprise him, sneaking into his room and slyly join him in his slumber, tangle themselves in their limbs and just lay there and enjoy the comfort they gave each other. He knew, because she had done it so many times before hand. He would never let he know that, though.

He listened for her quiet steps, the way she would tip-toe towards his bed in a –he'd say- rather pathetic attempt to conceal her presents from him. She was so loud.

He waited. But she didn't move.

"Gaara?" She tested. He almost laughed but that would have given him away. "Are you awake?"

He laid still for her. Amusingly she stepped forward, he could hear the fold of her cloth against the wind, the wind was drawn open. He could picture her soft pout played on her lips, wondering if she should approach him further, a small debate conspiring within her. He wanted her to come to him, actually he even thought of beckoning her to himself.

He wanted nothing more that moment than to bite her and let his fangs break the surface of her creamy skin. Wasn't it time for feed?

Hinata stared back at the still form that laid soundlessly before her. She would have thought him dead if she hadn't known better. Master Gaara was very complicated, she had learned over the years how sensitive he really was. His strength and speed were astonishing. So was his hearing, which had lead to many embarrassing predicaments, much to her displeasure.

But there were thinks she did not know about him, about his kind. The other maidens had told her not to dwell on it. But that did not stop her from wondering, what more can he do? She was mildly shocked to find out that said master wore reading glasses.

_In the large room of the mansion study, thy precious young master, sat leanly on a captain's chair a book in hand, and oval shaped spectacles placed delicately on the bridge of his nose… _

But her master was strong that she knew of. He rivaled others like him. He strongly rivaled-

An indication of movement caused her eyes to refocus.

Did he stir? She stared at him another moment. She willed her mind to push the thought away concentrating on him closely. The way his red hair sprawled on the pillows, she couldn't see his face because his back was to her but, she could make out the shape of his head under the heavy blanket he draped over himself. Spring was ending and summer was on the air, thy lord was easily cold.

He had not moved since she entered the room. She seemed to be moving in slow motion as her foot navigated further into her lords room.

He could feel her stare on his back, digging in with a force he thought she didn't posses, it made him squirm in his own skin. He wanted reach out a claw and scratch it way. But he couldn't do that now could he? He waited patiently for her to come closer.

Ah, the smell of her blood running through her veins was intoxicating. He wanted so much to…he would get his way eventually.

'Be still!' he tried to tell his body. But it seemed to have grown a separate mind. He could not help from shifting just a little, his body had its needs he thought helplessly. She didn't seem to notice. She took another step. Her sent growing even more intense. What were the chances madness would swell in his breast before she reached his bedside?

Vaguely he could hear the shouts of the courtyard somewhere in the distance. He had slept late it seemed. Or was that just the sound of the servant's children? What time was it? He searched his mind for an important _–yet usually very unimportant-_ event that blemished his agenda that day.

Nothing came to mind. Except that meeting with one of his sirs. Yes, that was about it. That could wait a few weeks he supposed.

He heard Hinata give out a small yelp as something in his room knocked over and fell with a smash. It was probably something expensive and irreplaceable that his father had sought to buy from the many journeys he took. But none of those journeys were ever enjoyable.

Actually, most of them were rather meaningless. But to her, a mere moral, and a servant at that, it would cost years of work to buy. He could hold this against her for a while, he grinned inwardly, the next few years wouldn't be such a bore.

Now Hinata was beginning to suspect that he was aware that she was in his room. A noise like that, added with her own scream should have been enough to wake up any normal man. But Master Gaara had never been considered _normal._

It was her own clumsiness that brought a vase falling down. She was too busy concentrating on not making noise and watching her footwork, she almost didn't see her sleeve brush against the vase. Even if she did she, there nothing she could have done, the vase fell backward behind her as her feet were rooted to the ground. Either way, the result would have been the same.

She sighed softly before saying, "Master, I am tired of playing this game. You _know_ that I am here." She waited. He said nothing nor did he make an effort to acknowledge her words. She couldn't help but feeling a bit annoyed.

Not caring if he heard her or not she carefully picked up the pieces of falling glass and laid them upon his dresser, vigilant of the sharpe edges of pottery that she held. Then casually she strode to his bedside.

"My lord, please rise. We both know the game is over." She didn't bother to whisper. Again he ignored her heed. She looked down at his motionless figure.

"Please, Gaara." Her voice was desperate. "You have important things to do."

Nothing.

She sighed. His bright fiery locks curled around his ears and pooled onto the bed, they looked soft. From where she stood she could see half of his handsome face. His eyes were closed, he almost looked serene. She noted his eyelashes were almost a soft blonde, they were long and swept over his cheekbones.

His hair looked so silky, she wanted to touch it. Some place in her brain a voice screamed not to, but she drowned it out.

Her fingers were already reaching out…

Large, warm hands grabbed her wrists. She barely had enough time to gasp at his sudden intimacy. His voice was dreadfully plane. "What did you think you were about to do?"

Where was her voice? "I-I was sent to, um, wake you."

A smiled graced his feature. "Is that so?" He was so handsome, she couldn't stop looking into the pools of greenish Mediterranean blue.

"Yes, it is so." Her voice wavered lightly. The hand on her wrist loosened. Then with a small tug she was sitting neatly in his lap.

"Master no-"She flushed, her face feeling like it could boil over. She was against his bare chest, which, she noticed was nicely muscled. "This is so inappropriate." She turned on his lap to meet his smiling eyes.

"I'll tell you what is inappropriate." His let his fingers find her hair, he was grinning like mad. His hand nestled her hair beofre coming to cup her cheek. Hinata felt every wave of strong muscle under his skin and shivered. "Sneaking into my room and destroying a very valuable piece of pottery that you obviously can't pay for, is highly offensive."

Her face broke; she did not expect him to think of the pottery.

"Oh yes. That would get you wiped and tossed out into the streets, right?"

Hinata gulped, it certainly would.

"You'll have to pay for your insufferable mistake."

She knew where this was going. The lord pulled her closer.

"You'll be bed me this fine morning."

She opened her mouth to protest but he raised his hand, her lips creased together in a thin line. "I am willing to forget your clumsy ways. Do not act as if we have not touched each other in such manner." He was happy to see her turn another shade of apple red.

"B-but we shouldn't!"

"Do you question my judgment?"

She stayed quiet for a bit. He began to tug at her clothes impatiently. Her hands came to rest upon his, stopping his action. He looked warily at her. "What?"

"If someone catches us, I will be hung…" She whispered softly tears collecting under her lashes. "I can die but you will go free."

"I wouldn't do this with you if I didn't know the risks." He looked at her, the tiredness in her eyes, fear built up inside. What a wicked life women had. To that she allowed herself to rest a chin on his shoulder. She was but a simple housemaid. He was a prince. There lives intertwined as servant and master.

She felt so insignificant around him. Even if really there was no chance for real courtship between him and a maid, a traitorous part of her that refused to think rationally, whispered songs of hope and improbable promises. For some reasons she feed attention to that part of her, feed it the notice it needed to weave its way into her heart and override ever speck of common sense she had for her lord.

She felt so stupid. Who was he, to want something a filthy as herself?

This secret relationship she had with him made the pain in her heart even more painful. She wasn't worthy.

But that might have been the reason she had chosen to let him take her. He made her feel so loved. Much more than she deserved. With him she felt beautiful.

The cold hit her exposed flesh, the peak of her breast hardened. In his eyes, she could see a spark ignite. Suddenly she was feeling hot. His lips grazed her throat and she whimpered. He flicked his tongue out to sooth the wound. His hands roamed up her slender neck, up into her silky locks of inky black. He sucked on her pulse, visions of red blocked his eyes.

"Gaara…" Her arms were around his neck, slipping down his back and loving the feel of his skin on the tips of her fingers. He was so wild for a prince of a great land. He pushed her down into his bed. He hovered above her, his weight pulled her to the mattress.

It didn't take long for him to fling her garments over them.

His hands traveled everywhere. She was hot, sweating, panting. She could feel him hard against on her stomach. There was a burn in between her thighs, she pleaded with him to ease it. He happily accepted her request.

"Ah!" The sudden thrust sent her spinning out of control. She felt full. A hand was placed on her mouth to silence her noise. She closed her eyes.

In out, in out, he was slowly working his way to a faster pace. Small grunts escaped him, she was close. She was lots in her own world.

"Gaara!" she threw her head back. She didn't even know when he sank his teeth into her neck and drank. The world kept spinning and she held onto him. He released into her, a burning sensation settled in her stomach and she sat there welcoming it.

"I love you." She said fluttering her eyes at him. He was panting as he looked at her.

He didn't reply.


	2. Chapter 1

**Distance Chapter 1**

**Thunderbolts**

I had never wanted anything in my life. Not money, not power, not even the comfort of my own father. I was born alone, and I had always assumed that I would die alone, in the emptiness, and nothings of my world, I would die alone. But maybe it was because I have always had what I wanted; with the snap of my fingers all my desires could be fulfilled.

I know that people would kill for the life had simply been born into. I was born into something great and fearsome, and the many wanted it. Everything ripples in my presence, for I am the source of change, but I am always a constant. My rain will never die, as long as there are people in the world, I can never die.

Yes, I take everything for granted, I know that.

But I can never care because I have never had an honest or noble conformation. My mind process information differently from others, it is like the dunes of the desert, it changes ever so, each second. However the output is always the same, merciless and unnatural, something to be afraid of. What more is confusing is that I can never control it. I have asked before but the answer was always the same, they said that was my nature. And I accepted it as it was, that was my truth.

People will tremble, I will be like the endless ocean that washes away the sand, people will change they will grow old and die. They will smile and laugh in the simplicity of their insignificant lives, their emotions will expand beyond anger and pain. I will watch them until my sane leaves me and I finally undue myself.

Contentment.

I will never be able to achieve this, it was not in my 'nature.'

I will never know why.

I won't try to understand it, because I am constant, because I never change.

XOXOXXO

"Guten Tag!"

A light snort could be heard as the prince of England came to stand close to his closest friend, the slightly younger prince of Germany, as far as 'friends' could apply. The two were of about the same age. One was taller than the other with inky dark hair combed back, wild locks that couldn't be tamed, bronze chocolate skin and muddy soft eyes. His face was sharp and angular taking much from his father's side. He was tall and lanky, with a powerful stride, evidence of his brut strength.

The other was a head shorter, looking distinctly feminine. His hair was a burning red. And the voice that came after him, like a ghostly whisper, were formed by full cupid bow lips, "Kiba."

"As it is always a pleasure," Kiba smiled faintly. He brushed Gaara's room and immediately began to tend nearby horses. The beasts breathed heavily on him, silently waiting for a treats. The stalls were quiet that morning, the way both men rather liked it.

The younger's boys smile was carved favorably into his face. His dark eyes tingling with excitement. First he would pick out a horse, then, if the bustle of his life permitted, he would spend the rest of the day working out the tightness in his back. Which was received earlier buy the unforgiving roads of Europe.

"They won't be bothering me today will they?" Kiba asked himself more than Gaara. He turned around to his silent friend and was not disappointed when a shrug came as his reply. He was rather happy to be in the stables with all the woodsy smell of hay and the other unwanted one of manure.

"On my way I saw a bit of construction."Kiba said after some time. "Another wing?" Kiba didn't bother to listen for an answer there was sure none.

"How is your mother?" Gaara asked politely. "I heard her health has been improving, they say she is making deals with the devil."

"Like you could care less." Kiba began to frown lightly.

Gaara shrugged off the wall that he had been leaning on. "I suppose that is true, that I have no real interest in weather your mother lives or dies."

Kiba flinched feeling mildly hurt, then remembering that this was Gaara he was speaking to and that he was becoming used to the blunt truthfulness. "She is only human." Kiba sighed; he couldn't get angry at Gaara even if he tried and he was realizing that the conversation will not be leading to a happy place. He picked an apple from his pocket.

"What of course. And that's why you will never become king, for that reason only."

Kiba laughed. Not because of the fat lips that gently cherished his palm or the hot breath that tickled his cheeks. No, for a completely different reason. Because what his friend had told him was so disgustingly true that Kiba didn't even have to question it.

There was a silence after that to which the younger began to fidget with the oat bag; it caused the horses to turn to him warily, asking him why he tortured them so.

"You make it seem as if it is my fault, like I _asked_ to be born." Kiba sighed letting the happiness all but disappear from his face.

"That's what I'm getting at, yes."

"You're a disturbance."

The horses began to snort, it sounded like twisted laughter to Kiba's ears.

"Tell me that there isn't a part of you that would like to continue living. That if I pick up that pitchfork and plunge it through your heart that you wouldn't put up the least bit resistance."

"Is that your reasoning?"

"Fate has brought you here under your own wanting. You _asked_ to be born and you _wish _your heart to keep on beating lest you drop dead now. Because if you did not, I promise, you would have been killed long ago. That is enough reason for me."

Kiba let his eyes roll, which had becoming more and more common these days. "You and your irrational philosophies. When will you ever stop?"

"The day I die."

"Like hell if that happens." Kiba snorting turning his attention back to an interesting looking dark brown mare. He ran his finger through the short hairs of the horse's side.

"Breakfast will be ready in only a matter of hours, I trust that you will be accompanying me later." Gaara stepped closer to the door looking back at Kiba.

"Must you people always eat so early?"

Gaara again, shrugged, "We wake early don't we?" He ducked under the low door of the stables, much to his displeasure wasn't too much of a drop. Kiba regularly commented on his height, apart from other things, like his appearance.

The low doors were to make sure the horses wouldn't escape. Like they have cleverly done so many times before. His father joked that it was the result of outstanding breeding. And he and his court would jest it all over the palace. 'Might as well the whole country then,' Gaara though irritably stepping into the more pressing cold of the out doors.

The gardens, Gaara noted hadn't been cut today and it took more effort than usually just to wonder why. Of course the gardens were always beautiful with all its dying, or rather dead petal flowers and god awful smell or rot, that usually accompanied winter seasons. Slug and grim, a terrible mix of frost and mud paved the neat stones of the pathways. The trees that surrounded him stood with the kind of pride that Gaara admired, for they would surely outlast the season and many other years to come. As he walked to the side gates and through what must have been the rose garden, for he could not be sure, he caught the smell of rotting earth and wondered if one of the great trees had finally began to fall. The putrid fragrance tickled his nose until he forced all his will to ignore it. The cold kisses of mid-winter settled on his face, a place where he rather not have it be, but even he couldn't control mother earth. He didn't feel cold, because that was imposable for him.

But he register that it was indeed, cold. He felt his face numb, but it was a feeling the Gaara had always accepted into his heart and so with his body.

It was, Gaara noted again, quieter than the norm. He was beginning to feel a bit unhappy, not like he was happy before, but like there was something he was missing. Something had occurred, and Gaara was not so sure he was pleased with that fact.

Just then he spotted a horse. Given any other occasion, he would have overlooked the matter, but now he wasn't so sure.

He recognized the rider, one of his father's men that he had sometimes seen around the palace, running his father's affairs. He was short, bald, and to him looked too much like a rat. No, maybe not a rat, because this man was too small for the title. He was a quiet one, . A man that didn't speak out too much, nor did there seem to be a single bad bone in the plump little body. He turned suddenly, as if feeling some unknown presence and practically jumped out of his saddle for the sight of the King's only Son.

Gaara thought him a smart human.

He looked at the young man, quite feminine in appearance. He was of average height, maybe a bit shorter, though couldn't always tell. And had the most startling eyes outlined somehow with blond lashes. He was also frightingly pale, like snow, preserved forever in icy complexion.

Carefully gulped air and tried to ignore his sudden parch of throat. "Oh, sir, I had just come back from the colonies and I was awaiting my luggage. By chance have you seen a coach go by, it would be awfully dreaded? I mean with all the-"

"Good day, ."

"Yes lad, good day to you too."

Gaara stepped closer a glossy smile pasted to his face. It was supposed to be reassuring, Mr. Olenthrop thought, but it was anything but. "How was your voyage, most tedious I am sure? You were missed."

Even atop a horse, though shorter than most men, the poor trembling advisor could feel the other worldly aura of his lord's young son and he struggled in his seat. He didn't look anything like his father. He thought back to the court session with the King. The large crowds and distrustful glares could not upset nor quiet the ways of Your Majesty.

There was as always a demonic aura about the air.

Why, he could remember with startling detail. And the feeling that he felt now, was much like the one back then. The King was a relatively likeable person, he had no real problem that anyone could see and remembered and said everything that he was supposed to. It was as if the King hadn't any need for a royal advisor in the first place. As if the King was perfect already. And his subject often wondered why he was ever in court.

"Me?" The short man answered squeamishly, Gaara just looked at him expectantly. "Oh yes, me, I am quite well! If not the least bit tired. Your courtships have been telling me all about your academic studies."

"I hope they mean well." Gaara said stepping to the side of the horse. The beast immediately began to still. If it was calmness, the advisor could not tell. It felt something akin to submission. "Have you any news for me? Gossip perhaps of the colonies?"

"Oh," chuckled nervously while adjusting his small glasses on his mousy little nose. "Oh, I don't hear of much things. They do say that the south is quiet beautiful. But my cousins live in Massachusetts, the religious type; they say that the north is so much better. But you can never take what they say for word you know?"

"Hm, quite." Gaara said, side stepping the current topic. "Is there any event that I should be aware?"

"None that I believe." To the smile on Gaara's face became a bit more stressed than it already was. And he felt a striking similarity to his lordship.

Often the King held a look of calm and superiority that went well with his title. For what king would not?

But sometimes, just sometimes…

"Is there something you would like to tell me, ?" Gaara asked politely. It took much of will power for the older man to drag his eyes from clear blue-green ones.

When a battle arose…

"No, what ever do you mean?" Despite the cold a visible sweat poured onto his temples.

In privacy, shield from everyone but him…

"Don't lie to me unless you'd like to be dead."

To his most trusted advisor…

"I assure you I have such intention."

The King would show his true colors.

There was a long silence. And His Young Majesty held a face that was made of solid stone, or so Olenthrop would swear. There was barley a breath when Gaara smiled. It looked pleasant enough but time with the King had thought the advisor not to trust outside appearances, and to look for what would never be said.

"Good day, sir Olenthrop." Gaara nearly scared the rider out of his seat, for the second time today, in the span of a few minutes. And the older man began to feel miserably pathetic. He watched the King's son until he disappeared from view.

_You are your father's son, without doubt._ If the advisor did not belief it before, he believed it now. And with one last look he galloped down the coble roads certain that today would be his last. The King does not simply comply with an issue he cannot breach. Instead he eliminates all that stands in his way. And because of that, the Prince must now do the same, even if it would be interfering with a direct royal order. Somehow Mr. Olenthrop could not help the fact that this all seemed planned.

Gaara continued past the roses. A wariness clouded the skies of his vision and he restlessly pushed through heavy steel doors and the cold fled behind him.

Immediately he was meet with a rush of servants all rosy cheeked and flustered. At the sight of him they almost dropped dead so strong was their worry that Gaara could almost call it something else. Almost call it fear.

And at once he knew. Like a bolt of lighting handled by Zeus himself.

His body held stiff. His mind began to run scenarios of which the worst could happen. And he would never admit it, but he wished he was in the stables with Kiba.

His father was home.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. I am so very sorry for not posting anything for a while. I pray that you forgive me.**

**Any questions? See if you could pick out the clues I have left for you.**

**I am very sorry if you find any errors in my work, I have them often.**

**Please review and comment.**

**-Nichee**


	3. Chapter 2

**Distance Chapter 2**

**Suspicions**

Temari was worrying. As she had always had the tendency to do, even as a young child. She ran a comb to her hair, in an effort to look at least half pleasing, her frustration only grew when the comb just went so far before snagging. Why did her hair have to be so curly and unmanageable? She looked in the mirror and took account of her pale completion, the dark honey amber of her eyes that always seemed to fascinate people, and the straw colored matt of wool that she called hair. Her face was heart-shaped and round, her lips were a little too thin for her taste but she had been called a beauty. The world had to be full of daft men. She wasn't even half as beautiful as her mother. Frustrated she threw the comb over her head and waited for Helga to attend to her. She was aware that she was acting like a child. And worse even, like a certain blond idiot that she despised. But that wasn't important now, the main cause for her worry was that father was here. And she did not worry for herself, but for her brother.

Imagine her surprise when at a trip to the colonies, negotiating trade and what not as well as involving herself with certain acquaintances, she got a letter from Kankuro informing her that father was planning to arrive at the country home in just a few weeks. It had been a bombshell to say the least and she had little time to compose herself and regretfully say goodbye to Shikamaru before boarding the next ship. Oh, he must be so confused with her! She acted nothing like herself as she fumbled out of his arms and into the next carriage not even bothering to look back. She hadn't wanted to see the expression on his face.

"Oh Helga, thank heavens you're here," Temari relaxed slightly as her trusted servant entered her chamber and immediately began attended dutifully to her hair. But her worries started again when she thought of the chaos she had seen downstairs, which she could clearly hear but had been conveniently ignoring the whole time. "Tell me, how bad is it?"

"Hmm," Helga's movements were still as she contemplated her lady's question. The palace was an orderly place. The staff was well equipped and highly experienced, many here having been in the royals servitude for decades. Everything was kept fresh, clean, and in fine condition. But the King was very particular about things, she noted. Not that that was a very bad thing, but he was sometimes just odd with his requests. He wanted the very rare, they very elite, the very _expensive_. It was a good thing he traveled because the manor couldn't handle his demands for more than three weeks. If she didn't know any better she'd say he was being difficult on purpose. But she couldn't see how that could improve anything. If only to enjoy the discomfort of others. "I can't be lying to ya, ma'm. Dey looks worse than I've ever seen dem. We are all confused, no one knows 'here or 'hat is goin' on."

Temari nodded solemnly. Her lips were bruising from all the biting she was doing. She had no idea what she was going to do, or how she was going to help. But she had to do something for Gaara. Somehow she had to make up for all those years she wasn't there. Tamari he shifted nervously in her seat until Helga placed the last pins into her hair. The heavy woman strode across the room, she paced around before finding a plain satin garment laying in one of the open suitcases. "Wear dis."

"It's plain."

"It 'ill do."

Without further question Temari stepped forward and allowed Helga to dress her. When she felt the finally buttons snap in place she hurried to the corridor before turning around, her face etched with worry, "Thank you."

XOXOXO

It was madness. Men and women ran left and right, their voices shrilling in Gaara's superior hearing. They scattered around like a herd of lost sheep with no shape, order or form. Surely this was hell, for this is where humans were behaving in the most primitive ways, and surely he did not belong among them. Yet he could not blame them too harshly for it was a common passion that had grasped them all. Fear, panic, and for Gaara doom. His father was home. For people this would be a simple even joyous fact but under his home it was pure disaster. His father was hard man to please; he was fascinated by the rare and the exotic. Britain, it seemed, the country which he ruled held little pleasures for him. His father hated the blandness of his home and often refused to stay there at all. And if, he were ever to visit, it would only be for evaluations sake. The fact that his father was here, without notice, and without clear reason, terrified Gaara. Though he would never admit that to himself.

He was regretfully positive while the dread pooled in his stomach, that his father was here for him, to ruin him, to destroy him, to cast him into the fiery pits of which he came. He had been trying to do so since Gaara was born.

Numbly he continued down the hallways, ignoring all who stayed to his path. They avoided him like death. He wondered vaguely if they could read the emotions through his eyes, his head was littered with pandemonium. While his head could not think clearly his feet guided the way, they knew exactly where his father would be. And even if they couldn't he could sense the dark presence in the house, it was like a sweet poison. His father was calling to him, like a siren luring her pray. Finally he pushed through heavy marble doors with little effort. He could hear the music before he could see the player.

His father was at the grand piano, playing something he thought was supposed to sound pleasant. He watched and waited as skillful hands ghosted along the keyboard. He waited, agonizingly until the song had finished. His father looked up, though his eyes were black all Gaara could see was red. Two smothering red beacons. "You don't have enough curtsies to say hello."

"Hello, father."

"Such a disappointing child." He raised himself gracefully from his seat and strode to the more comfortable cousins of the parlor. Reluctantly Gaara followed, he sat opposite of him. His father was the picture of ease and simplicity, the fact that Gaara could not read him very well was proof his father had many centuries to practice this façade. "How are you're studies?"

"I am beyond my peers." There was no satisfaction in his voice, nothing would ever be good enough for father.

"Hn." His father nodded, "Of course you are. Then how are your siblings?"

"Please cut the formalities."

His father laughed, it was not a natural sound. "Do you talk to everyone like this? Very well, since you are so narrow-minded, I'll ask you this: Who do you fancy?"

"_What?"_

Exasperated he stated himself again. "Who do you fancy, my boy? What…woman I assume, has caught your attention?"

Gaara was not at all familiar with the phrase 'my boy' in regard to himself nor was he appreciative of the questioning of his sexuality. But mostly he was not completely sure what his father was trying to get at. So he spoke the truth, knowing that it would most likely comeback to harm him. "I have no interest in anyone."

His father thought on that, or he appeared to. "You are at this age, your body is changing, and as a man you are budding with sexual-"

"I'm not liking this conversation. Tamari has informed me about this long ago." Gaara interrupted quickly.

"Oh, I'm sure."

They stared at each other for a moment. "What do you want?"

"Me?" His father pointed innocently to himself. Slowly he leaned in and grasped his son's shoulder, Gaara stiffened immediately but his father did not seem to care. He's eyes glistened with mischief, though it was a sadistic kind of glamour that pierced easily into Gaara's side. "I want what is only what is best for you." His father was a sick, sick man, even Gaara knew that. Though he had many sins nothing could compare to what his father had done. He had sold Gaara's soul. An innocent unborn immortal and turned him into something unimaginable.

"Listen boy," His father's voice was parentally stern; Gaara suppressed the urge to scoff. "You may call yourself a man, but in my eye you are still just a pup. One who does not know at all how to control himself, one with the basic instinct to kill and destroy without any thought to how it may cost you. It is time you start taking responsibilities for your actions."

"I do."

"You know no such thing." His father hissed. "You are just a boy –not even. You're a beast. And only time will make you stable. Mother earth does not hold the amount needed for you. I will be your guide because no one will."

"I don't need you!"

"Don't you?" The hold on Gaara's shoulder became painful if he were human his arm would be ruined.

"You will not control me. You will not use me!"

His father stared him down. In the blackness of his eyes he could see no soul, no conscience. "Demons like you need to be leashed, if you are not controlled you'll be useless to me, I can't have you messing in my affairs now can I? You'll always need to be taken care of one way or another."

_I will kill you._

"You're underestimating me."

_Not if I get you first._

His father smiled then and leaned back once more in his seat, releasing his son. Gaara could feel a buzz from the amount of force his father had sent through him. He was strong, but Gaara knew he was stronger, and that is what his father feared most. He was conceived for that very purpose. Like Zeus and Cronus, father and son.

"Don't give me any bastard-human half children. I won't tolerate them." His father said at last.

"You know I wouldn't and you'll kill them anyway." Gaara rose from his seat, restless to get out of his father's presence.

"Don't let that be an excuse. I wouldn't."

Gaara froze mid-step. Warily waiting for another remark.

"I'd do much better than that."

XOXOXO

She had been waiting outside his door for a while now, wondering how she was going to approach him. She was sure he could feel her there but he cared enough to give her the chance to make the first move, and in some way giving her a bit a dignity. That or he really didn't care. The last thought was a sobering one. Taking a deep breath, that she knew he could hear as if the wind were roaring in his face, she pushed through his chamber doors.

"You are usually supposed to be invited in, Temari." He was sitting in the only chair in the room, which was odd for most chambers. She hadn't been in his room for a while and she understood that most people were not allowed here. And those who are usually are not invited to sit and have tea with him. His room was simple yet tasteful, his walls were a dark shade of green-gray his floor an uncommon black kitchen-like marble. But his floors were warm which probably meant it was above the boiler room. Winter mornings must have been easier for him. The spread and curtains were a complementary shade of a lighter green. She wasn't sure if green was his favorite color and she felt it was stupid to ask. So she stood there awkwardly, feeling a great deal of shame and humiliation. And he hadn't even said anything yet.

"You were talking to father." She said blankly, trying her best to find something that resembled confidence. He adjusted his glasses as he looked at her in the dim lighting.

"You know," he said placing his book on the low table, "It is highly rare to see one of our kind needing visual aid, even among humans it is not so common. But do you know father has never said anything about my bad eyesight. I'm beginning to think it is the only thing that he likes about me."

She didn't know what to say to that. So instead she said what was on her mind. "Father spoke to you and I am curious as to what it was all about."

He knew she wouldn't understand, she never had. The very moment she had stepped behind his door, he knew she'd do nothing but confuse herself more and waste his time. Sighing he asked. "Why are you curious?"

"I'm your sister." She said frankly, as if it were the key to everything. It aggravated him.

"That had never meant anything to you before, why now?" Tamari felt slapped at his words. Not only were they hurtful, and morally insulting. But they were also true.

"Family doesn't mean as much as it used to, _sister_. You abandoned me, you and Kankuro. You turned on me and never questioned his methods." His face twisted in disgust, and something else, pain.

She didn't have to ask who _he _was, she didn't have to be reminded of all the times she stood by and watched as he was destroyed, ruined, abused and revived all to be demolished again. How could he ever trust her? She felt such shame. She wanted nothing more than to hide from his gaze so that he wouldn't need any longer to look at her pitiful person. Tamari was a strong woman with a big heart and emotions that drove many of her actions. But if there was one thing she regretted it was the fact that she had failed someone she cared about. He was just a child, she should have known but he was also that _thing _that _beast_ who took her mother away. The mother that loved her son despite what he was. The mother that nurtured and cooed the thing that was eating her inside. For many years Tamari had despised him. She had wanted to kill him. And selfishly she helped father manipulate him.

She had failed him, she knew that. And maybe she had failed love too. She wasn't getting younger and she should be married soon but that was a prospect she couldn't see. She couldn't see her family. Maybe because it was already in front of her. She needed to rekindle things with Gaara if it only were the last meaningful thing she did in her life.

"I'm sorry. For all the times I wasn't there, for every moment of every day you suffered-."

"You have no idea what that was like." His eyes were like venom and she could see he was retreating, going to a place where he wouldn't have to feel anymore. She couldn't let him go there, she couldn't be ignored.

She rushed to him with unnatural speed, he regarded her with cold eyes. She grasped his hands in her own, he flinched, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered, everything else was irrelevant. "You took my mother away, I know you didn't know her but I did."

"What does that matter?" His eyes narrowed, she could feel the hairs on the back of her head stand up.

"You don't know what you lost. She was so kind and loving…you would have loved her…"

"She's gone." He said curtly. The aura around him shifted then, thickening, solidifying. She knew this feeling.

"Yes, that is true…but it is in the past. You were more…impulsive back then. I know she didn't mean much to you. But it is simply your nature to-"

"You think her I don't regret killing my own mother?" Tamari saw the blacks of his eyes and the swirling yellow mass in the middle of it. Before she could react he pushed her back and she slammed across his dressers with a mash. She was vaguely aware of the glass that shattered around her and blades that harmlessly fell from her skin. Because all she could look at was the yellow in his eyes and the faint storm of sand he began to pick up.

It had been a while since she saw him this enraged. She was fearful yes, but she was also sure if he chose to attack she could still hold her own for a while. As the tears ran down her cheeks she spoke hoarsely, "I hated you so much! H-How could y-you, how, w-w-why did you take her from me? But she loved you! So, much…I was wrong, I-I shouldn't have left you. I should have stayed I, sh-Should have learned to love you! Now I'm ready…I know now…Please, forgive me…Let me be your sister in dearest."

The sound of racing footsteps was apparent and she knew that her fall was too loud for anyone not to hear. The servants shouldn't see him in this state, they would have to be killed.

_Helga._

"Gaara please!" She screamed against the roar of his growing storm. Everything was being blown away. Suddenly his bed arched over, it slid before crashing into his chamber doors. He was looking at her with the eyes of the demon. He wasn't her brother anymore, he was losing the battle, he was slipping away.

"Think about you're doing! Control yourself!"

With that he seemed to come back to himself. Though the sand continued to hollow he slowly stated to see her gain. Before she could do anything he slipped out the window and into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 3

**Distance**

**Chapter 3**

There was red everywhere. It was in his eyes, in his mind, in every flaring breathe he took, in every strong leap of his legs as he ran into oblivion. The earth gave way below his feet and the tress around him were demolished as he passed them at an unnatural speed, vaguely he recognized the smell of the manor disperse and give way to back wood. He was trying to focus but was failing miserably as his mind played and replayed the scene in his bedroom. Every word was like a knife, impossibly cutting into his flesh, sheathing deeper into his skin with every accusation. Confused but enraged he hardly had enough sense to jump out the window before anyone could see him. How would Tamari explain this one? Suddenly he realized he didn't care. All he wanted was to let this fire burn, burn until it smothered its self out so that he could think again. He let the beast inside him take control growing stronger on empty hate. He could not hate Tamari for loathing the monster that he was. What kind of person takes the life of their own mother at just the earliest stage of life? What would rip her open, ruin her already wasted womb, just so that she could admire it, coo it even, until the light mercifully left her eyes?

Slowly the flames in his chest turned cold, they flared every moment or so, searching for the fuel to begin its destructive rampage. But Gaara ignored it, letting the empty feelings dominate his mind. He came to an abrupt stop, his breath even. Slowly he wandered farther into the thick forest, allowing the rhythmic buzz of life consul him as he stared into the black sky. Though the animals had enough sense to avoid him he could still hear the flapping of tiny wings, the pit-pat of little feet and thumping of small hearts. The unbroken wind caressed his face like one large open breath.

He was himself once again. It would be better of him to return home and assess the damage but the thought of going to that house, of seeing his father's unpleased face distilled him from the thought. Instead he followed the wind, catching one smell or the other. A deer, mice, a hare. And then he thought he smelt jasmine but it didn't grow here so he ruled it off as his imagination. It wasn't long though until he the scent of the township reached him. There were many humans, which meant a good number mugs of blood. He wandered if peasant blood from these workers were any like the maids. Certainly not like the spiced blood they received from the Vatican. But this blood was rich, flavored like it had been in many places and been touched by many foods.

Having lived a full lifetime Gaara was suddenly struck by the realization that he hadn't been many places. Barley, if ever had he stepped out of the estate as of late. He was more adventurous as a boy but that enthusiasm dimmed with his father's growing possessiveness. Or rather it was the fact that Gaara did not want to feel like a child any longer, maybe he thought amusedly, he had just reached the peak of adolescence. At least to his kind.

He followed the more alluring pull of human life, his fangs impatiently pushing past his gums. He pressed his lips firmly together. From the edge of the forest Gaara easily slipped into a small crowd of adults. Making his way around them he was careful not to be seen. His eyes roamed the mingled market streets looking for someone decent to drink from, his kind were not afraid of much but they were mindful of diseases in blood. Suddenly the smell of jasmine was explained by a fine ladies perfume. It accompanied the equally pleasant form of a young gal. She was faced away from him, giving him a nice view of her backside. Her clothes were flashy, a poor replica of the styles the courtesans were currently wearing but stood out among the common folk. Barley came of her lightly in soft waves. Gaara followed.

She was leaning toward some trinkets held on a stand. Gaara was sure she had no money and the way the merchant warily regarded her reaffirmed his assumption. She turned her head slightly. She was no great beauty. Her eyes and hair a common mud brown, though he admired the dangerously low cut of her blouse that exposed a nice amount of ample bosom. Her smile was sweet and sensual as she took to the merchant. He shifted his weight nervously obviously looking down the barrel of her blouse. Though a few meters away Gaara easily heard every word, "These gems look every bit fine."

"They are expensive. But you're in luck there is a discount today." The merchant's voice wavered as the gal reached up to stroke a lock of hair. When she didn't ask the cost he continued. "That would be 3 shillings coinage, I accept banknotes miss." The merchant said decisively, weighing his words.

The gal frowned slightly, the stress pulling at brow deceivingly. Gaara was almost impressed. "How much would you sell it for me?" She said in what he assumed to be an imitation of the high class.

The man looked away. "The same as any fine customer, miss."

She frowned more solidly. "Really?" She leaned more on the table on hand coming to her chest. "Why not for free?"

The nervous man began sputtering, "How do y-you expect me to make a living? I need p-profit. I can't just give away me pockets…" He paused as the girls hand came to yank on her blouse. He could only stare like a bloke as she looked at him meaningfully.

"For me?" She asked again. "I promise, I'll pay you handsomely." From her tone of voice it was apparent she was no longer talking about money.

A group of spinsters decided to show themselves at that moment. They were dressed in dark garb with hints of white lace here and there. At the sight of the merchant disapproval etched its self deeply into their faces, a few barley contained appalled gasps. One woman, tall and ominous with bible in hand, led the group toward the trading tables. Her eyes where two dark beads of coldness, vaguely they reminded Gaara of his first decade governesses. Most were old spinsterly women with no money and thus few methods of keeping an acceptable role in society, either they joined the Sisterhood or they become chaperones for the young nobles and the elite. This one had clearly joined the nunnery, no doubt she had her sisters prowled the night streets in order to convince the sinful from temptations.

The merchant was viably relieved by the sisters' presence. Though there was a slight look of disappointment in his eyes. He removed his cap respectfully.

"I see you are up to the same tricks, Miss Penelope." The tall one said to the young harlot, briefly eyeing the salesman who stiffened at her glare.

"Old habits die hard, Sister."

The sister did not seem pleased nor was she overtly disgruntled. From what Gaara could tell this apparently was not a happening chance. "What immoral deed have you tempted this time?"

Penelope smiled, lifting a dull jewelry with delicate hand. "Buying myself a gift." She held it to herself, "I didn't know that was a sin, 'tis only a simple pleasure really." At the end she looked to the merchant.

"I rather doubt that story substantially."Not missing a beat the Sister looked to the merchant, "Shall I call the constable? Has this woman upset you in anyway, or implored any improper actions against you?"

The merchant seeming surprised raised his hands in what he thought was a calming gesture, instead he looked ready to surrender. "No, let's not be hasty. There is no needed for law. I would appreciate it though if you are willing to escort this young lady home."

At that the nun, with a manner that couldn't be called gentle, strode the harlot forward. Gaara stealthily followed them. They were passing the market place, leaving the fringe slums and giving way to more respectable parts. A clean line of hedges seemingly appeared from nowhere and now framed the even cobble streets. The tall nun exhaled sharply, loosening her guard in more pleasant surroundings. "I don't know what to do with you, Penelope," though it was whispered Gaara heard it as if it were yelled at him. "You abandon your schooling, the church. What bad company you keep. What does that life hold for you? What improvements has it made to your person, your reputation? At least with us you could have had a future, you could have become a governess, pray, you might have married a gentleman. I would have wished to see you rise in station."

"Well," Penelope spits struggling against the iron grip of the Sister, "That isn't what happened now is it?"

"Where had it gone wrong…you where an excellent pupil until… I knew I shouldn't have let you near that boy." Penelope halts suddenly as if the blow of the words had left her legs useless. Roughly she his hauled forward once more as the nuns continue their advance.

"It wasn't him. Don't you dare go blaming him. It was like this from the very beginning…All of it! How you would have liked it to be easy, I know how willing you were to narrow my mind –to fit me in a corset so small I shan't ever take more than a shallow breath." The tears are coming now, spilling down her cheeks though she struggles to blink them back. Her chin lifted high, she's still hoping, still lingering to the pain that has stained her heart, that has made her hard.

"You could have been a fine lady, if only you abided by the rules set out by God." One of the nuns chimes.

Penelope laughs, it breaks in certain places making it sound more like a cry of despair. There is a pitiful sadness in that laugh."It isn't God who does this, no, it is the sole purpose of man. How sure am I of God, when I have seen what I have see? He can't exist in this world."A round Blasphemy is called among the nuns as the stare hatefully at the young beautiful thing amidst them, they mean to break her that much is certain. She laughs again. "Man. If he isn't conquering land, he's dominating his wife, taming the degenerate, the poor, the weak-"

"Degenerate, like the gypsies?" There is no attempt to hide the whip that comes with these words.

"Don't you dare mention him!" She screeches, eyes like daggers though she is shoved forward by the god-steady.

"Pray tell, where is he now?" Someone sneers.

"Don't." A fierce anger spreads across her face. They almost laugh at her pathetic state.

"Just like your mother."

There is an audible _smack._ The resounding noise of skin sharply hitting skin. Penelope is out of their hands, she is running, bounding back down the streets and the nuns make no attempt to stop her. Gaara carefully backs into he shadows, letting her pass a narrow alley before following. The salt of her cheeks reaches his nose stinging in their intensity. Her body quakes in its grief. They have arrived back at that the slums but she dodges the markets completely continuing deeper into the area. The smells of urine and waste sweeps the slanting allies, Gaara tries not to look but he knows it is filthy. She persists unfazed, turning down the pitched, sharp passages familiarly. She takes a solid left, slowing until she reaches an unmarked door. Looking about her, she pushes it. The alleyway floods with light and music momentarily.

It is a bar of questionable sorts. Immediately Gaara notes that it is absolutely filthy and there is nothing the dim lighting can do to hide that. It stinks of urine and barley, hard whiskey and sex. The men, sailors, criminals and the like are as equally disgusting as the place. They note his entrance warily, taking in his fine clothes and powerful nature. As if sensing the danger in him they turn back to their gambles and brandies. Without hesitance he follows lavender. It leads him to the second floor of the establishment. In the hall soft murmurs and wanton moans muffle out closed doors. A loose woman eyes him and she is promptly ignored. She laughs haughtily before entering a room he's sure already occupies two.

The lavender takes him up once more, quietly he enters the rooftop. She is standing back faced to him, one leg placed over the short brick rimming of the roof. She is looking down. The salt is still fresh but she has already stopped crying. He watches her, waiting for what she might do. Finally she leans of the brick as the lewd English air weaves through her hair and bringing her true bodily sent his way. It awakens something deep within him, his fangs throb in a way that is almost painful. But he does not strike.

She is numb. Also she is utterly alone. Third she lists that her existence is particularly useless. _Just like your mother. Where is he now? Degenerate._ These words are harsh and raw, they are said in hate and ignorance, a thousand years of brainwashing and restraint, yet they prove true. That is the worst kind of pain. And with that thought she almost buckles over her grief. There was a time when the stars twinkled in hope through the smut not loneliness. There was a time when she could laugh with ease and weep in difficulty, but that like very thing else, it has finally righted itself. This was her bed, not that she had made it, but she had to lay in it all the same. A face came to her mind then, the blinding light of it scorching her mind.

"Penelope…" the velvet of her name tickles her ear and she turns around startled, hoping for one face but seeing another. She stares at this handsome man who stands comfortably in the shadows. He is not striking in the classical sense but she cannot deny is obvious beauty. He is lanky, yet well built. Taller than her by a few. His fine clothes made her wonder but her eyes finally settled on his face. His eyes were dark jade in this lighting, they were deep with secrets but shared no emotion. He was beckoning her silently, seeing something deep in her and calling to it. Strangely she was not frightened.

She stepped forward without thinking. It was stupid, she knew but she was simply enchanted. She came to stop two feet from him, searching his face all the time. It revealed nothing. He lifted a hand to her hair, testing its silkiness. Her eyes fluttered at the touch.

"Dear Penelope…" he sighed deeply. Her knees went weak.

_Who was this stranger?_

"Would you like to forget?" He asked her.

"What?"

"Forget him for tonight."

_Yes, I think I shall do that –Help me do that._

He saw the answer in her face and led her down. In the hallway he selected the last of the rooms, when he opened it she was surprised to see that it was empty. A little cot was placed in the corner, again she was surprised for it was clean and freshly made. She looked up to see him staring at her rather openly, he did not apologize for his interest nor did he mind when she returned the favor. He walked behind her, placing his hand on her hips. His hot breath pooling warmth into her belly. She let him explore. Intoxicated she was, by his clean sent, his honesty, his desire. She let him undo her gown and felt it fall at her feet.

His inviting tongue was at her neck his lips laced with lusty drunkenness. There was no love here, but that was alright. He kneaded gently at her breast, weighing them. She let a soft gasp. Suddenly she was at the bed, he looming above her. With sure hands she removed his shirt. She took a moment to marvel at the pure a whiteness of his skin as if he were sculpted from marble, it contrasted so greatly to the skin she used to love. She explored the strong shoulders, the broad back, the hardened stomach and he watched her do so.

He undid his pants and she was pleasantly surprised by the swiftness of his thrust. He filled her up, in a way that she had missed for so long. No matter how many men she took, she had never thought she would feel this content; this action of intimacy wasn't just for pleasure, for survival but for comfort…pity even. She wondered what this man knew about her but her mind was lost in the steady wave of moans that left her. She kissed him, there was no love there but the passion was enough for the moment. She gasped and trembled as her body was washed with wave after merciless wave of oblivion.

He watched her peaceful sleep. He had placed her beside him after feeding from her during her climax. He looked at this wrench of a woman who would toil the streets of England and receive no honey. Carefully he slid from under her, silently he got dressed. He looked to her once more before leaning his head to her ear, "Live on."

With that he placed 3 shillings on the table.

* * *

**I am a lazy person at heart, this you may already know. **


End file.
